CHAPTER 50
A small crowd led by Governor Richard Coke was on hand at the railroad depot as Mobley, Jack and Edson prepared to board the train to Waco. The engine huffed, hissed and bonged in the background. Several horses in the stock car whinnied and pawed the floorboards as two young boys tormented them with loud hoots.
Richard Coke, never one to miss a good sendoff, was effusive in his thanks for Mobley’s assistance, hugging and kissing him embarrassingly on both cheeks. “I know you don’t like it, Judge Meadows, but from now on I shall always refer to you as General Meadows. You have saved Texas from civil war. I know it will never be public knowledge, but I will certainly not forget. Calling you General will be my way of remembering.”
Mobley nodded. The man was right. He did not like being called General. President Grant had given him the temporary rank so there could be no question of his authority, but it still did not sit well. He had never earned the right, never fought in any grand battle, had never had the responsibility for the lives of thousands of men under arms.
“All right, Governor, but if anyone else around here ever does that, they’ll be in for a good whuppin’.” He looked menacingly at Jack and Edson who raised their hands in mock surrender. Turning back to Coke, Mobley leaned forward and whispered. “Have you taken care of that other little matter we spoke of?”
Governor Coke smiled, the two sides of his beard standing almost straight out from the effort. “I am a man of my word, General.” He turned and nodded toward Yancy Potts, who stood inconspicuously several steps behind the Governor. “Thanks to Mr. Potts, who knows how to get things done with a minimum of fuss, everything is in order.”
Mobley nodded. “Thank you, Governor.”
Jack and Edson stepped onto the passenger car stoop and through the doorway. Mobley shook Coke’s hand one last time, and then turned. Mobley was looking forward to a good nap on the way to Waco. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours a day during the past three weeks. The tension had been too great. He placed his foot on the first step, then on the second.
A woman screamed. Mobley turned, caught a flash of light from the corner of his eye. A stab of fear raced through his chest.
Edson yelled, “LOOK OUT.”
Ferdie Lance charged through the small crowd, raging and foaming at the mouth. A sword in his fist swooshed through the air in a bloody circle. Mobley sucked in his stomach to avoid a sweeping slash that would have disemboweled him. Ferdie Lance continued slashing at him and everyone else on the dock, a madman gone rabid. Yancy Potts, frozen in place by the sudden turn, failed to duck. His head, bald pate shining in the sun, toppled from his neck and clunked along the boardwalk at Richard Coke’s feet.
Mobley stared, horrified at the apparition before him and the bloody trail being drawn on the boardwalk by Yancy’s traveling head. The body stood, weaving, huge gouts of blood rising above its shoulders, cascading through the air and splattering everyone within range.
Mobley grabbed for his pistol. He caught his hand on the metal guardrail, jammed his knuckles as he attempted to draw the weapon and lost his grip. The pistol fell through the rail with a clatter, landed hard on the hammer and discharged. The bullet blew past Mobley’s nose and impacted the car roof, showering dust and debris into the thick cloud of black powder smoke.
The cloud obscured Mobley’s vision, but was promptly dissipated as Ferdie’s blade swirled through it, leaving curls of turbulence in its wake. Mobley fell back against the forward wall of the coach, barely dodging another singing slash.
Ferdie came at him once more, swinging the sword almost vertically now with both hands. Richard Coke and the spectators scattered. Mobley fell back as the curved blade struck the wrought iron steps of the platform, right between his legs. Another two inches and he would have lost his manhood.
Jack and Edson struggled to help, but were blocked as Mobley back-pedaled up the stairway, his knees pumping up and down in a blur. Neither could get a clear shot at the madman.
Ferdie took another sweeping slash. Again, metal struck metal. Before he could bring the sword back again, Mobley kicked out with a long leg. Ferdie took the boot full in the chest. He fell back to the ground; sword locked in his fist, and instantly rolled back to his feet. Edson yelled. Mobley turned, reaching to catch the pistol Edson had tossed. He missed.
BOOM BOOM BOOM. Three bullets smacked into Ferdie’s back in rapid succession. He staggered forward for an instant, and then recoiled backward several feet, abruptly stood straight up, as if getting ready to salute, turned and stared. A long string of red bubbly foam hung from his mouth. He mumbled something, and then crumpled to the ground.
Mobley collapsed onto his butt, his legs dangling down the stairs. Mister Jim Bob Burnett stood over Ferdie Lance, still pointing his smoking pistol at the dead man’s head. He looked up, and then dropped his head. “Sorry, Judge Meadows, I hope this feller weren’t no friend of yorn. But he was puttin’ a mighty fright on the governor, and I just cain’t abide such behavior in a man.”
Mobley’s hands shook, his legs vibrated. He tried to pull himself up, but realized he would have to wait a few more minutes before his limbs could cooperate. He stared at the body of Ferdie Lance, then at the head of Yancy Potts. Ferdie’s last word had been, “Mother” as he fell for the last time.
Mobley could not imagine Ferdie Lance having had a mother. He’d been the most vicious, violent man Mobley had ever seen. What must his mother have been like?
* * *
Mobley stretched his stride to cover the short distance from the Waco depot to the Old Corner Drug Store. He’d pondered his words carefully on the trip from Austin, and then slept, legs sprawled across two full seats. But the nap had not been a restful one, for he’d dreamed of Lydia. He saw her in his mind, soft white complexion, sweet scented auburn hair, waist little more than the size of his hatband, eyes a deep emerald green. His heart pounded as he rehearsed his speech in rhythm with the clacking of the rails. Now, he would see her in a few moments. He would ask her to forgive him, to marry him. He would sweep her into his arms, carry her to her room, make passionate love to her.
Listening to Edson all these weeks had taught Mobley a great deal. He would never treat Lydia poorly again; never again treat her like a child in need of protection. He would treat her like the equal he’d always wanted his wife to be.
Edson had made his excuses. He needed to stay in Austin for a few weeks until he was sure Dixie Lee Potts was settled after Yancy’s funeral. Jack was at loose ends, knowing what Mobley had in mind and knowing he would only be in the way. He tried to keep up with Mobley as they left the depot, but lagged behind as they approached the drugstore.
Little Gertrude Sweetgrass was skipping rope on the sidewalk in front of the store, a stick of peppermint candy in her mouth. Mobley called out. “Hey, little girl. Where’d you get the candy?”
Gertrude looked up, dropped her rope and ran at him with arms open wide. “Uncle Mobley, you’re here, you’re here. It’s so good to see you again, Uncle Mobley. Momma’s in the store. She’s been waiting for you all day.” Mobley swept her up in his arms and gave her a big hug.
“Uncle Mobley?” Jack said as he walked up.
“Quiet, Uncle Jack. I’m going to need you to watch Gertrude for a little while.” He handed the child to Jack. “Try to be nice.”
“What? You can’t be serious? I didn’t come here to be a nursemaid.” But Mobley was already into the pharmacy and out of sight behind the far back drug counter. Jack took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. Gertrude started pulling on his mustache and begged him to make her a soda.
“A soda? What’s a soda?”
“Oh, Uncle Jack. Everyone knows what a soda is. Come on in, I’ll show you.”
* * *
Mobley lost his nerve as he approached the stairway to Lydia’s quarters above the pharmacy. He felt his hands begin to shake, his throat tighten. He tried to remember the words he had practiced, the words he knew he m
ust say if he were to win Lydia back from her anger, but those words had been difficult to find, impossible to say even in his mind without a flood of emotion and feeling with which he was not comfortable. He’d had a very difficult time creating them on paper, but they expressed his thoughts perfectly. If only he could say them without complete and utter collapse. Now, they were simply gone from his brain, befuddled in the panic that was slowly rising to an intolerable level, to that level where even he, the great hero of Austin, would soon be reduced to a pile of unidentifiable prairie goop.
At that very moment, Lydia Sweetgrass appeared at the top of the stairway. She stared, her eyes flashing green, brown, and blue, a frown suddenly on her face. She stepped slowly down the stairs, carefully, taking them deliberately, one at a time, holding onto the rail with white knuckles.
Mobley quickly removed his hat, dropped his head and stared at the floor. He fingered the hat brim like a priest knuckling a string of beads.
Lydia stopped three steps from the bottom, where her eyes would have been level with Mobley’s, if he’d had the nerve to look at her.
Mobley shifted from foot to foot, his mouth so dry now he knew he might not be able to open it even if he’d wanted to.
Lydia placed her hands on her hips. “Well? What is it you want, Mobley Meadows? Have you come all this way just to stare at your feet?
Mobley was struck by the harshness of her voice, the voice he had come to love, the incredibly soft alto that had at once conveyed such strength as well as sexual power; that had so entranced him, the voice that had whispered such wonderful things in his ear while he was on death’s doorstep. She had now, with one sentence, reduced his determination and purpose to zero, all gone in one fell swoop. She was still angry.
“Oh, my God,” he thought. “There is no hope.” This beautiful, wonderful woman was lost to him. He turned, head still hanging on his chest, and began to walk away.
“MOBLEY MEADOWS YOU JUST STOP RIGHT THERE!”
Mobley stopped, afraid to turn around.
“You came here to say something to me. Now, say it, or don’t ever come back.”
Mobley stood for a moment that seemed like an eternity. He turned, glanced up at Lydia, tried to talk. His voice would not come. He quickly lowered his head again. He worked his mouth around, tried to get out a word, but just could not. Finally, he reached into his shirt pocket, fumbled with a small scrap of paper, and handed it tentatively to Lydia.
Lydia took the paper from his hand, carefully unfolded it, and began to read. Her face turned red. Her jaw began to flex. Her eyes now seemed puffy.
“Oh my God, now I’ve done it. She hates me.”
Lydia stood still for at least one full minute before looking back up at Mobley. “Do you mean this?” Her voice was now soft, warm.
Mobley nodded, and allowed his head to come up to look at her.
Lydia clenched her jaw. “Then you must say it aloud. Say it to me as the man I know you are. The man who I might choose to marry if I knew he truly meant these words.”
Mobley stared at her, now realizing she had been testing him, wanting to make sure he would never again treat her as an inferior, as someone he must protect to the point of oppression. The filtered glow coming through the pharmacy skylight suddenly seemed brighter, his panic racing away, his world no longer lost. If only he could make his mouth work.
Mobley swallowed several times in order to make saliva, to force his voice to work. He reached out to Lydia, to take the note from her hands. She pulled it back, as if teasing him.
“No. You wrote them. Now you say them.”
Mobley held Lydia’s gaze, then let out a whoosh of air. He nodded his head. Tears were streaming down her face.
“Lydia, my wonderful Lydia. I know I cannot undo the terrible things I have done, nor can I ever apologize enough for them. But you must know my intentions have been of the highest order, for you are so perfect and beautiful, I cannot comprehend your interest in me. But I have loved you dearly, and my promise to you is that I will always love you, more dearly than it is possible to say.”
* * *
Gertrude skipped into the pharmacy, scrambled up on a short dining counter and grabbed two tall glasses from the mirrored shelf behind the counter. She then put them under a faucet-like device with several long ceramic levers and pulled one of them to put a dark looking syrup into the glasses. Then, she shifted the glasses to another of the levers and pulled it back. A foamy white liquid shot out of it and almost overflowed the glass before she let it go. “This is how you make a Doctor Pepper,” she said with a big smile on her face. “Now, try it. You’ll like it.”
Jack shifted his pistol belt, leaned his rifle against the counter, and sat cautiously on one of the round stools. He took the drink from Gertrude’s tiny hand, and then looked around before tasting the strange looking concoction. Mobley and Lydia were embracing at the foot of the stairs to the living quarters above. Mobley suddenly swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. Jack looked again at the drink. He put his nose to the bubbling liquid. It tingled and smelled quite pleasant, like sweet honey and cinnamon bark. He took a tentative sip. “Ooooh. Hey, this is really quite good.”
“Of course it is. It was invented right here in Waco. Everything made in Waco is good, didn’t you know? I was made in Waco, too.”
Jack smiled at her and shook his head as he continued to sip on the drink. Gertrude made another for herself. The two of them sat for a long time, sipping and oohing their way through several of the pleasant tasting drinks. Jack was thankful no customers came in to interrupt them. Finally, he could drink no more.
Gertrude smiled brightly. “You have to be careful, Uncle Jack, or you’ll burp out loud. Momma says it’s not nice to burp out loud. You’ve got to do it quietly.”
“Is that right? Well, where I come from, burping is considered a compliment to the person who prepared the food. It would be an insult if we tried to suppress it. So—buuurrrrrrrp.”
Gertrude clapped her hands, giggled and squealed as Jack demonstrated his ability to belch several different tunes, including her favorite, “Home on the Range.” Gertrude tried her best to imitate and harmonize with him, but was laughing too hard.
Jack found himself enjoying the small pleasure of being with Gertrude. It had been years since he’d felt so alive. He was relieved though, when Mobley and Lydia came back down the stairs. The rosy glow about Lydia’s cheeks told him she was completely in love. Mobley looked a little embarrassed, but managed to maintain himself.
“Jack, I’ve decided to, uh, stay with Lydia here in Waco tonight. We’ve got a lot of planning to do. Why don’t you get a room in town? I’ll meet you for breakfast in the morning.”
Jack nodded. It was about time Mobley and Lydia spent some real time together. That’s what I should be doing, rolling around with a good woman. What was that lady’s name, from the Railroad Restaurant and Hotel? Oh yes, Mavis Hunter.
Jack got up, hugged Gertrude and started out. As he turned, a large framed document beside the door caught his eye. It was a certificate declaring Lydia Sweetgrass fully qualified as a pharmacist in the State of Texas. It was signed by two certified pharmacists and Governor Richard Coke.
CHAPTER 51
Wildflowers splashed color across the prairie as far as his eye could see. Some tall and wavy, others hugging the ground as if afraid to expose too much to the vagaries of wind and rain. The colors and scents of spring sent thrills through Mobley as Meteor loped up one hill and down another. It was difficult for him to travel quickly while so absorbed in the scenery. He stood tall in the saddle at every opportunity to peer over the next rolling hill. He loved the prairie almost as much as he had the sea.
Even more, he loved having Meteor’s powerful body driving him forward, feeling one with the animal and the Earth. It had been difficult to tear himself away from Lydia, but they’d promised to remain faithful and marry upon his return. It was to be his first full tour of the circuit
, and more. It would be the first year of Jack’s and Edson’s education. In the law.
He’d known for some time, Jack and Edson were special people, intelligent and dedicated. They deserved to share the knowledge, to become full fledged attorneys. It was within his power to give, and he intended to see it through. Two circuits, two years of campfire reading and discussion, two years of courtroom observation and experience. They would be ready. Jack, for whatever task he chose along the Mexican border, Edson for return to the Indian Nations; each to help their people in whatever way they could.
In the meantime, there was much work to be done, justice to accord, and wonderful places to see and experience as they traveled about. His first planned stop was at a town called Abilene, where water rights disputes suggested the need for federal law and order. Then it was on to Cimarron, where a full scale battle was about to break out over the legality of several Spanish land grants.
Such disputes were as old as the law itself. He recalled Wild Eye Sagen saying. “Whiskey was for drinking, water for fighting.” Water meant life. Wherever it was in short supply, there would be battle. Now, with the coming of the railroad, men were scrambling for long term position in towns and fields as conflict invariably followed the first flush of civilization.
Land grant disputes had flourished after the Mexican war and the taking of New Mexico, and a number of cases were already on his docket, having been ignored by Judge Hooks. These needed quick resolution, but it probably would be years before all matters were finally settled.
Mobley was as prepared as he could be to take on these disputes, but knew few of the losers would simply walk away from an adverse ruling. People would be killed, for those who had been settling matters by knife and pistol most of their lives would not be quick to change. But he was not seriously worried. Jack Anthony Lopes and Edson Rabb were the match of any ten men anywhere. Mobley Meadows’s court would be protected.
Mobley looked over at Jack and smiled. The man rode straight and proud on Mariah, the name he’d finally chosen for his black stallion. It was appropriate, for he was as fast as the devil-wind he’d been named after. Jack was clearly as happy as any man could be.
Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel Page 36